Sir Thomas introduced her gravely,—“My sister.”
Lady Gertrude’s bold dark eyes scanned Rachel with an air of contempt. Rachel, on her part, quite reciprocated the feeling.
“You see, Niece, we keep our velvets for Sundays hereaway,” she said in her dry way.
The bride answered by an affected little laugh, a kiss, and a declaration that travelling ruined everything, and that she was not fit to be seen. At a glance from Lady Enville, Clare offered to show Gertrude to her chamber, and they went up-stairs together. Jack strolled out towards the stable.
“Not fit to be seen!” gasped poor Lady Enville. “Sir Thomas, what can we do? In the stead of eighty pound, I should have laid out eight hundred, to match her!”
“Bear it, I reckon, my dear,” said he quietly.
“Make thy mind easy, Orige,” scornfully answered Rachel. “I will lay my new hood that her father made his fortune in some manner of craft, and hath not been an Earl above these two years. Very ladies should not deal as she doth.”
Meanwhile, above their heads, the bride was putting Clare through her catechism.
“One of you maidens is not in very deed Sir John’s sister. Which is it?”
“Sir John?” repeated Clare in surprise.